Turn up the Heat

Josh, but they were clearly happy to see their old friend. Digger was in his late thirties but already had lots of gray showing in his wavy locks, which he wore pulled back and fastened with an elastic. His dark, leathery skin made me think he’d spent too many long days in the sun while growing up in Hawaii, but he was ruggedly handsome. He was still wearing kitchen clogs, and when he leaned in to hug me hello, I enjoyed the familiar kitchen smells. Josh always carried that same scent after work. In fact, the kitchen odors permeated his chef pants and coats so thoroughly that even after I’d taken all of Josh’s work clothes and laundered them myself, they’d still smelled fresh out of the kitchen. I’d given up and told him to keep using his laundry service.
    Lefty greeted me in his usual formal style. “Hello, ma’am,” he said as he nodded politely and shook my hand. In spite of all the times I’d hung out with Lefty, he still insisted on calling me ma’am and treating me with old-fashioned courtesy, even though he was only a few years older than I was.
    “When are you going to start using my name?” I asked him.
    “I can’t do that, ma’am.”
    I smiled at him. Lefty’s formality suggested that he had grown up in the South or had been in the military, but he was from Lynn, Massachusetts, and spent his working life as a civilian in Boston. He was charming and incredibly sweet.
    Digger sat next to Josh, and Lefty next to me.
    “S’up, Dig? Good to finally see you!” Josh gave him a manly clap on the back. “How’s the restaurant going? Lefty giving you problems as usual?”
    “Yeah, you know him. That pain in the ass is full of back talk and can’t cook his way out of a hole. Right, dude?”
    “That is correct, Chef.” Lefty cracked a smile.
    “Nah, it’s all good there. The usual shit, but it’s good. I’ve still got that moron Pete working for me, but mostly I’ve got a solid staff.” Digger downed his entire glassful of water. “God, I’m thirsty. We were hustling tonight at work.”
    “Which one is Pete again?” Josh asked.
    “Pete’s that guy who talked his way into the cook job. He’s Lefty’s backup. Anyway, he talked a good game, and, like an asshole, I hired him. When it came time to put on the coat, it turns out he can’t boil water without screwing something up. No matter how many times I show him how to do something, he always screws it up. Last week he sent out seven rare cods in a row. I mean, Jesus, who wants to eat uncooked cod, right? I just walked out of service. I said, ‘I’m done. Nobody call me. The rest of you can deal with this.’ And so I left. But Pete hasn’t undercooked the cod since. His latest problem is that he keeps sending out the tuna without the balsamic reduction. He’s unbelievable.”
    “So how are you going to fix that problem?” I wondered aloud. Digger presumably couldn’t keep walking out of dinner service.
    “Easy. I told Pete that every time he sends the tuna out without the sauce, I’m gonna kick him in the shins.”
    My mouth dropped open. “You are not going to do that, are you?”
    “I already have. I don’t knock him to the floor or anything, but yeah, I kick him in the shins. He’s doing much better.”
    I looked at Josh, expecting him to be at least somewhat startled, but he nodded in understanding. “You gotta do what you gotta do, man. There are always idiots in a kitchen. Speaking of raw food, remember the chicken story?” Josh and Digger started laughing.
    “What’s the chicken story?” I asked.
    “You tell it, Josh,” said Digger, grinning. “I can’t. I’ll get too pissed off again.”
    “Chloe doesn’t want to hear that story,” Lefty said.
    “Yes, I do. Tell it!” I demanded, always eager for insider kitchen tales.
    Josh leaned back in his chair. “Digger and I were working together at this family-style place, and the owner had booked a rehearsal dinner party. Now, the bride was the daughter of the bank manager from the bank that had the note on the restaurant, so obviously we were supposed to do a bang-up job, right? Digger and I were basically running the show, but we weren’t doing much of the actual cooking that night, although we’d done all the prep the day before. Everything was fine until the entrées were served, and all of sudden the kitchen door goes flying open, and the bank manager comes in practically breathing fire and screaming that we’ve ruined his daughter’s